


Cuffed

by fictionalthoughts



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, F/M, Inappropriate Use of Handcuffs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Smut, Teasing, The Mandalorian smut, The Mandalorian(The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader - Freeform, star wars smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalthoughts/pseuds/fictionalthoughts
Summary: request from tumblr: handcuffing with our sexiest bounty hunter please?*fic can also be found on my tumblr @fictional-thoughts
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Cuffed

Unbreaking and metallic. Cold to your warm skin the shiny metal glints in the darkness as you twist your wrists in the cuffs, feel out just how much you can move within the restraints. Hands above your head, crossed delicately at the wrists you’re deliciously vulnerable, soft to the touch and arching into the Mandalorians form, the pieces of beskar not yet removed dig into your skin.

He’s going slow, his lips graze the strong part of your jaw, draws lines down your throat, the kisses are soft and hesitated and his warm breath fans over your skin, bringing shivers to the surface. Mando leans closer and through the cover of darkness your lips are met with his.

Soft sounds mix with the kiss, quiet moans and broken whimpers drag from your chest, stuck on your lips like sugar, and Mando finds it so sweet. The cuffs clink against the bed frame, wrists strain against the bonds in pitiful attempts at escapement, to wander his skin, slide through his messy hair and feel every inch of the Mandalorian.

Mando didn’t think he’d enjoy the sight of you restrained, wrists crossed and bound, held over your head they provide him with so much freedom, a newfound release, it adds an extra stroke to the steady flames within. He feels your trust, your commitment to him, and that he makes you feel _safe_ enough to allow him to have you in such a vulnerable ridden state.

Mando wants to tell you all this. He’s not good with words and his voice is gravely and deep and it breaks when he’s distracted by your red lips and shining eyes, the sight of your body curling up to him, the dips of your waistline and the arch of your spine and the way your thigh slides up to curl around him, forcing him ever so close.

There’s a shift of movement and his lips follow the curve of your breast, soft under his tongue and full in his hand, he feels you tense under him, trembling, delicacy forgotten. Red lips parted, whimpers curl from your lungs, choke from you the air that surrounds the lovers.

Mando knows _just_ how bad you want to feel him, right down to only the basics, all you long for is to meet your hands to his skin, scrape your nails up in angry lines on his back and run your hands through his hair, pull a bit when his teeth tug gently at your nipple.

It’s all a push and pull, he’s testing the boundaries, dipping into the unfound fantasies, exploring every silky, delicate and intimate detail.

The Mandalorian has had you there longer than you could bare, basking in abstract ways of control. Dirty words fall from his lips, sinful and poetic; he’s ruining your self control. He’d been teasing you with his hands, his lips and tongue; drunk on the taste and feel. Dragging you ever so close to the very edge, he fucked you slowly, two digits easing in and out, your wet cunt tight and thighs trembling, the pretty picture is followed by your breath picking up — Mando knows when you get close.

All that and you’re at the tipping point, laced in velvety warmth and wishful passion. Wrecked and lathered with anew carnality, you’re at the brink of pleasure. The Mandalorians got his large hands round either of your thighs, dipping into the skin he’s holding you up and spread open for him. Head tucked between your thighs, forehead pressed to the soft part of your stomach, his parted lips close to your core, slicked and sweet and wet.

“ _Gods, Mando_ ,” and he looks up at the sound of your broken voice, “just let me touch you.”

His head ducks down for a moment and you feel the smile gracing his lips. There’s a quick kiss pressed to the top of your stomach before he’s back up hovering over you, his left hand round your waist, thumbing the soft skin, over the stretchmarks if you’ve got any and little imperfections. “Not yet,”

Another begrudgingly tug at the cuffs. Another smile, and another kiss — to your lips this time, muffling the swears. The Mandalorian pulls away, just a bit, his eyes scan you face through the semi-darkness, the angles and features. His brown eyes rise to your cuffs.

“Not very found of these anymore?” A slim finger trails up your wrist, his knuckle taps the metal surrounding it.

Defeated. That’s what you are, wrecked and held over the edge, spread so thin. “ _No._ I _hate_ them.”

A dark chuckle fills your ears, and once more his lips graze your throat, press to your ear. You’d seen the Mandalorian handle his cuffs _so_ many times, the impression of power flares, hints at submission. The simple rings of thick metal had encouraged sinful ideas, of restraint and control and the ecstasy of release — and with _just_ enough begging, it’d become a reality. And now that you’re encaged in only his control, frustrations build; it barely surpasses the pleasure pooled deep at your core.

“Sounds like you _hate_ submission,” his words are as smoothly torturous as his hands, the Mandalorian’s voice right in your ear has you rushed with warmth, burning stars and forgotten fuel. 

So maybe you hate two things. You hate the absence of control and you hate when the Mandalorian is right. It’s difficult to bring the words up to surface, layered under the acts of passion, his lips capturing yours, deepening and damp and fast. 

“What if I said please,” you try not to let it affect you, but every kiss sends you further into a spiral of need. “Please?”

“You’re impatient,” his voice is raw, melodious and human with the beautiful absence of the helmets speakers it sends something warm and deep within you. It’s a little softer, a little rough around the edges; his tone catches with deepness and is curled with a barely noticeable accent.

He’s kissing you again and you pull his bottom lip with your teeth, let your tongue brush his amidst the bruising connection, his lips to yours. God’s, you’ve never wanted someone to fuck you as bad as you wanted it now. 

His hand moves further downwards, slipping between your thighs and over your core and a whimper leaves your lips. Your muscles jolt at the feel of his fingertips to your cunt, grazing over you, light as air it’s nearly unbearable.

God, you’re perfect. Those perfect little sounds. The Mandalorians hands trail further and nearly erasing all thoughts of uncuffing if he would only touch you properly. He’s teasing, hinting at the real things, a promise you know he’ll fulfil.

Getting closer, following the movements of your form, he’s sinking into the bed and slides an arm under your thigh, letting you rest it over a broad shoulder, the besakr cool to your warm skin. It’s frustratingly difficult, the physical restraint compared to his freedom to touch and feel and love every inch of you. You swear and collapse into the bed, let your hands go slack in the cuffs

He’s everywhere, his fingertips dip past your hipbones and draw tiny patterns over the sensitive skin. You’re an art form, spread open for him and every beautiful detail is exposed, the accents of intimacy and softer emotions compile into a mess that’s wretched and gorgeous.

The time is passing slowly then everything changes in a rush of heat and passion when he’s finally right where you want him to be. You swear, lungs halted in a gasp you’re arching from the bed as his lips find your cunt, sweetly soaked and soft to his lips he’s tight between your thighs and pulling moans and swears from your lips, the sounds mirror the pulls and whines of the cuffs to the bed frame.

You release a gasp, a soft shriek of his name — he’d had you coiled so tightly, strung up in ropes of pleasure and longing, the carnally driven desperation laced with begs and cries of his name only urges him on to bring you to the very edge. “ _Oh_ –” your eyes fall closed, blinded for a moment, a hot flash sparks its way right through you “ _my gods_ ,”

The Mandalorians slow at first, tounge curling up through the cleft of your cunt and running flat to your clit it’s sending waves crashing, steaming hot and unfurling, every lick and suck is pushing you further. You’re soaked, sharp and sweet your taste is coating his tongue and lips.

His eyes close and a moan catches in his chest, deep and broken, the sound is riddled with vibrations that go right to your core. His hand curls around your thigh again, keeping you still. He’s devoted all attention to you, as the seconds slip past, it’s as if the power dynamics switch, that you’re calling the shots — leading him on through begs and whimpers.

Mando’s pressed close to the bed, to you, his armour plated to his skin, digs deep but it’s an easy pain. He’s deep in your cunt and groans, hot on the sudden tension, plush and soft to his lips. His eyes open to the sight of you, bare in contrast to his armour and thick fabrics, head thrown back, spine arched — the angles of your collar bones show in the light, followed by the curve of your breasts, following the rise and fall of your chest, chasing a steady beat. His free hand pushes up, soon cupped around your tit, you’re warm to the touch and he’s drowning in the details of your body.

Snapping, burning fire runs it’s way over the surface, deep within, it’s all the same only molten. Drenched in the final race to release, the air around you, sticky and hot, the bounds keeping you from touch, the metal stained with the remembrance of a violent past. You feel violent, wrecked under the Mandalorian, he’s using you and it’s all you’ve ever wanted; hand on your tits and tongue fucking you. His words between the wretched moments drip with sin, they spread like honey over your skin, it’s like breaking glass and blasted fire, it’s sending sharp waves through your form. Tugging deep at the pit of your stomach, the reaction to his touch is overbearing.

Hands clench to fists, soon spent of energy you’re caving into yourself, muscles tense, its all raging winds and untamable lightning. Thigh curved around a broad shoulder, sliding over the beskar you’re pushing him incredibly close. Hushed groans and murmers send you spiraling further, he’s telling you just how good you taste, that soon, just a second longer you’ll be out of the cuffs, free to have him however you want. You’re used to ramblings of the Mandalorian, but finally there’s a choked moan, a slicked kiss to your cunt met and twisted with the saying of your name and the words melt down to his steady tone. “ _You’re such a good girl._ ”

It’s sudden intensity. Locked into seconds, fast as stars scour the galaxy, turned with tangled passion. His hands grip you hard, forcing you to still Mando’s dragging you through your orgasm; built up over time, its messy and lasting too long. Its too much, nerves shot and sensitive under him, its crumbling towers and melting metals. Choked gasps leave your lips, nearly trapped in your lungs, you’re falling from the high, catching on the returning edge, and he’s pulling away, turning his head to press a short kiss to the side of your thigh.

Moments pass and you’re still numb to the aftershocks and words dont make sense just yet. You ache all over, cooled to a point where shivers run rampant over your frame, only thing keeping them at bay is the Mandalorians softness after, gliding his bare hands up your body, smoothing over just the right places. The cuffs are unlocked and you’re curled to his side, not minding the armour sticking to your skin. His hands trail up and down the curve of your shoulder, gentle in contrast to the times before.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading my fellow mandowhores, feedback is always appreciated:)


End file.
